


Rests

by yeaka



Series: Nevrast [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 16:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: They sleep in a hotel.





	Rests

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

By the time they reach their hotel, Voronwë’s half asleep. Tuor gently nudges him awake and all but whispers, “We’re here.”

With a languid sigh, Voronwë pushes off the window and rubs at his eyes, adjusting to the glow of the headlights against the plaster wall before them. They’ve already pulled into the parking lot. When Voronwë’s awake enough, he reaches into the backseat for both their backpacks, the ones with toiletries and spare clothes, and makes the executive decision to leave the rest. It’s too late, too dark out, to bother unpacking it all. Tuor turns off the engine, and they both get out of the car. 

It’s cold, enough that their steps are brisk, hurrying forward into the nearby lobby that nearly blinds Voronwë with its bright fluorescent lights. It’s times like these that he’s grateful to just be the guide—Tuor’s somehow become the ‘leader’, and so he makes the arrangements: he’s the one that talks to the receptionists, gets their room key, and leads the way. Voronwë just has to follow. He stifles a yawn behind his hand and sticks close to Tuor’s back. The hotel is small, cheap, and smells of sterile cleaning supplies, but if it means Voronwë can finally lie down, he has no complaints. They’ve already spent far too much on their long journey, and they still have a long way to go. 

Their room is on the second floor, which gives them a few seconds in the elevator that Voronwë spends contemplating leaning on Tuor’s shoulder. Tuor’s broad and big, particularly muscular, so he probably won’t be that comfortable, but Voronwë needs some kind of pillow and doesn’t know if he can make it to their room. Then they’re out into the hall and Tuor’s fiddling with the knob on one of the generic-looking doors that line the hallway. 

He gets it open, and Voronwë instantly squeezes past into the darkness. The light switch flicks on behind him. Their backpacks are dropped onto the carpet, their shoes kicked off, and Voronwë glances at the attached washroom before deciding he can’t be bothered. He’ll take a thorough shower in the morning and brush his teeth twice as vigorously. For now, he’s chasing dreams. 

He doesn’t realize until he’s right beside the beige bed that there’s only of them. That gives him a second’s pause, and he glances over—Tuor’s stripping off his belt and jacket. At Voronwë’s questioning look, he shrugs and says, “The double was three times the price.”

Voronwë nods. It doesn’t really matter. He’s relatively thin, and he thinks they can both fit, and if it’ll force them to huddle up too close, this whole trip’s been _close_. Voronwë’s not sure he’s ever spent so much time with any one person, save his own family, and Tuor’s not even Elven. He slips into the bed first, and Voronwë climbs onto the other side. 

They tuck under the blankets, Voronwë facing the wall and Tuor by the nightstand. Then Tuor swears and gets up again to go turn off the light, finding his way back to the bed by what little starlight squeezes through the curtains. Voronwë feels it when the mattress weighs down. He can feel the blankets lifting up. He can feel Tuor’s warmth behind him and finds it vaguely comforting. 

For a long moment, the two of them are quiet. Voronwë is on the verge of sleep, pleased to be horizontal, but now his mind keeps him awake—he can’t help but wonder if the single bed was on purpose. Maybe Tuor feels the same way that he does, and this is an easy way of not having to _say_ it. 

He might also be over-thinking it. And it’s not a subject worth pursuing in the middle of the night. A few wrong words could cast the rest of the road-trip in an awkward energy that Voronwë would rather keep light and fun. Tuor mumbles on his other side, “Do you think they have cable?”

Voronwë answers, “I don’t know.” Tuor made the booking. Voronwë’s never cared much for television.

“I could go for some channel flipping... would that keep you up?”

Voronwë sighs. He just wants to sleep, and he could sleep right through flashing sounds and colours. He answers honestly, “Do what you like. I won’t mind.”

Tuor hums, “M’kay.” But the television doesn’t flick on.

Voronwë feels an itch in his side and rolls over, facing Tuor. Tuor’s already on his side, facing Voronwë. He smiles through the darkness. 

Voronwë smiles back, shuts his eyes, and falls asleep.


End file.
